


Shoot First

by ruanyu



Category: Falling Skies
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Fatherhood, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Protectiveness, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:57:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruanyu/pseuds/ruanyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to someone hurting his youngest son, Tom shoots first and asks questions later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoot First

There was a moment when Pope had imagined facing what he was facing now - when they'd been in the basement of that hospital and he'd been about to spray bullets into the ventilation shaft moments before they heard Matt's terrified voice emerging from behind it. He'd snatched the rifle away in a reflexive move, mind going blank, not even daring to imagine what would have happened if he had started shooting a split second before. Tom would not have let him live, never mind the fact that it would have been an accident. Nothing was ever an accident as far as his boys were concerned. 

And now he had found out that when it came to someone hurting his youngest son, Tom shoots first and asks questions later. 

Pope flinched as Tom pulled him up forcefully from the ground by his shirt, not caring that he was wounded, shot through the shoulder. Pope tried to get his mouth to move in an effort to ward off the rage he could see in the man's eyes: "Shit Prof, I didn't tell him to -" 

Tom's fist ploughed into his stomach and he doubled over, before a punch brought him crashing to his knees in the wet leaves. 

"You coward, using a boy to save your own skin..."

He hadn't even given Pope a chance to explain. It had been too sudden, Pope couldn't have stopped it if he had wanted to. The mech had come up on them out of nowhere. 

Matt had been hanging around watching Pope experiment with a new type of weapon on the edges of the camp, even though Pope had tried to get him to leave. Pope had deliberately set up his tent far away and wandered even further out to test the ammo safely - stupid, now that he thought about it. When the mech came up on them, Pope had told Matt to keep behind him. Instead, Matt had run around the mech and started shooting at the damn thing, playing the hero - like father, like son. 'Course, when the whole camp descended on them, it looked as though Pope had deliberately put Matt in the line of fire to draw the mech away from himself. 

Tom shoved him against a tree, slamming him into it, and punched him again. Pope heard a hubbub through the roaring in his ears. He caught Matt's voice, anxious and piping. "Dad, stop, please Dad, stop...It wasn't Pope's fault! Leave him alone..."

Yeah, kid, Pope thought distantly, you go on, get your old man to stop. When Tom let him go, he crumpled to the ground which rose up to meet him in a wave of wet mulch.

He opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the roof of the med tent. He had no shirt on. The wound in his shoulder had been cleaned out, but from the shoulder down his left arm burned when he moved. He would be worse than useless for a while. 

He closed his eyes again. The sun had set, the cold winter night was around the corner. He'd scarcely had the thought before he felt his familiar smelling blanket against his skin. He snatched at it and pulled it over him. "Thanks," he muttered, without opening his eyes. He assumed it was the doc or her helper. He thought about why he didn't think it was the bersekers for a moment, then he risked a question, which came out in a sluggish drawl. "Hey, doc, Matt okay?"

"Not the doc," came Tom's voice. 

Pope's eyes flew open and he was moving before Tom finished his sentence, swinging himself out of the bed, levering himself to get up. Tom stopped him, hand on his good shoulder.

"Matt told me what happened."

Pope looked at him, seeing the strained countenance of a man doing his duty.

"Pope, I'm here to apologize to you for assuming the worst. I'm really sorry."

For a moment, Pope was struck silent by the sincerity of the apology, the lack of antagonism, the steadiness of Tom's gaze. Then he shook it off. "It's your fault you know, how he is," he said, nastily. "If he'd been hurt it would have been your fault too."

Tom studied him. "What is my fault?"

Pope sneered. "That your damn fool boy feels he had to prove himself. Live up to your exploits."

Tom crossed his arms, surprisingly patient, not rising to the bait. "You know, when Anne told me her theory, I didn't believe her."

Pope scowled. "Wasat?"

"You act like an asshole to stop people talking to you like a human being."

"I don't," Pope said, automatically.

Tom shook his head wryly. "Well, I've apologized, do what you will with that."

Pope's mouth twisted. "What good's your damn apology? You shot me!"

Tom looked at the wound. "Doc said you'll be fine, no permanent damage."

Pope grunted. "Be laid up for a while. Can't test the weapons."

Tom looked down at him. "That what you were doing?"

"Yeah," Pope said. "What else?"

"What were you thinking being so far from the camp like that?" 

Pope was too tired to take issue with being lectured so he gave him the truth. "Needed to test the ammo far away from people."

"Well, don't take my son with you next time," Tom said, warningly. "He's still just a kid. I don't want him being put in danger." 

Pope grunted, surly. "I didn't take him, he tagged along. Not my fault you don't give him enough of your time."

Tom's eyes narrowed dangerously. He hated anyone suggesting he was not a good father. "What are you saying?" he said. 

Pope couldn't help tensing very slightly but he lifted his chin up. "You figure it out, Prof." 

Tom studied him. "You think he sees you as...what, some kind of substitute?" he said, after a moment. 

Pope was startled first by the idea then by the lack of condescension. "Nah," he said, "but your little boy wants you to believe he's tough." 

Tom looked taken aback for a moment, before his face settled into a familiar thoughtful look. The Prof was actually taking his words seriously. Inwardly, Pope preened. Outwardly, he scowled. "We done here? You said your bit?"

Tom scowled back at him, snapped out of whatever plans he was making to be a better father. "Matt's outside. Wants to see you if you're up for it." 

Pope was surprised by this, and it must have shown on his face. Tom raised his brows, waiting for an answer. "That okay with you?"

"Yeah, sure," Pope said, gruff, going to shrug and then stopping. "Whatever."

Tom nodded. "Get well Pope," he said abruptly, then moved away and left him alone, until a moment later Matt came tumbling in, fluting boyish voice apologising and asking if he was alright. He was, he decided. It wasn't about survival for its own sake any more, but knowing that he was strong enough to take whatever life threw at him, that mattered.

"Yeah, I'm alright now, kid."

**Author's Note:**

> I dug up this fic while moving my stuff here. I haven't watched Falling Skies since Alexis turned blonde.


End file.
